


Add/Drop Period

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Series: AoS College AU [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, TA/Student Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 02:51:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye has gone from banging two of her TAs (not at the same time) to dating them (still not at the same time).  This can only end in tears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Add/Drop Period

Skye’s hair is still wet when there’s a knock at her door.  She swears to herself.  Her phone clock says 7:30.  He was supposed to be here at 8.  Maybe it’s not him.  Maybe it’s a pizza delivery guy who got lost.  Obviously, Ward wouldn’t be 30 minutes early for a first date.  He may be a loser, but he’s not an idiot.  Skye throws open the door.

“Hey,” Ward says, “I’m early.”  She stands corrected.  Fantastic.

“Yeah,” Skye says, “Um, come in?” 

He’s underdressed, or maybe she was aiming too fancy.  Jeans look good on him. He follows her in, and Skye has never been so thankful that her shitty little apartment is hers and hers alone.   Thanks, Stark scholarship.  He’s never actually been to her place, and she’d have cleaned up if she knew he’d be coming inside.  He’s probably judging.  Her place isn’t tidy like his, with his socks sorted and his underwear folded.

“So I’m guessing we’re doing casual?” She says.  

He looks down at his jeans, embarrassed.

“Is that okay?” he asks.  

She doesn’t know why he’s so nervous.  They’ve fucked like, 20 times.  Maybe 15.  Whatever.  They’ve fucked a bunch, is the point.

“I had a fancier outfit laid out,” Skye says, “but I can find something else.”

“No, no,” Grant protests, like he’s made a huge error, “just wear what you planned.”

Skye snickers.  She starts wiggling out of her shorts, and Ward looks straight down. 

“Seriously?” She asks, “we’ve had sex.”

“But this is different,” Ward says.

“It better not be,” Skye says, “because I like sex-Ward, and if date-Ward is going to be weird about seeing my ass, he can leave.”

He raises his head.  His eyes staying firmly on her shins for longer than they should.  Then move up, past her knees, to her hips.  To make a point, Skye pulls off her tee shirt.

“Nothing weird about this,” Skye says.  He nods, forcing himself to meet her eyes.

“Nothing weird at all,” he says.  She knows better than to believe him.  She tosses him her clothes, and he follows her to her bedroom.  The black dress on the bed should go back in the closet.

“That’s a nice dress,” Ward notes.

“A bit too fancy for bowling,” Skye says, grinning at the indignant noise he makes.

“I never said-”

“Yeah but,” Skye says, “you’re straight laced.  Type A.  And you show up at my place in jeans.  Because you think I’m casual, and casual girls like bowling.”  She’s digging through her drawers, now, looking for a sweater.  “You’re not wrong.”

“But you’re not the bowling type,” he replies, in a disappointed swish.  Skye pulls out a pastel pink sweater, one that’s maybe a little too 90s but shows off just enough of her stomach when she lifts her arms.

“Hold this,” she tells him, tossing it over her shoulder.  “I’ll go bowling, if you want to.”

“I thought you’d want to,” he says.  Skye’s not entirely sure how to reply to that, so she chews on the inside of her cheek while she finds some cute underwear to put on.  Bra first, then panties.

“What do you want to do?” Skye asks him, “or do you want to think about it while I do my makeup?”  Her jeans are on, and they’re tight and they make her ass look fantastic, thank you very much.  He hands her the sweater when she motions for it.

“Give me another fifteen,” Skye says, “then tell me if we’re going bowling.”

 

She takes another thirty minutes, just to make a point.  Which would be, “don’t show up at my apartment early, dumbass.”  He’s fake texting when she comes out of the bathroom, her hair freshly blow dried.  

“So,” Skye asks, “bowling?”  Ward looks up from his phone.  She’s wearing more makeup than usual, mostly around her eyes.

“You look nice,” Ward tells her, slowly, like he’s struggling with it.  She beams.

“Aw, thank you,” she says.

“And, um, I thought of something else,” he says, rising awkwardly from her bed.  She thinks maybe she should put heels on, since he’s literally a foot taller than she is.  She remembers saying that they’re not going to be weird about this, and thinks that heels might be trying too hard.

“So you didn’t want to go bowling?” she teases.  He lets out a sharp breath.  He’s nervous, and it’s funnier than it really should be.

“I,” he starts, “no, I don’t want to go bowling.  Are you hungry?”

“Always,” Skye replies.  He smiles for the first time all night.

“I know a place with great pie,” he tells her, “if you’re interested.”

“I didn’t think you ate pie,” Skye says.  She makes a grab for his sides.  “Not with that body.”

“I work out a lot,” Ward says, like a reflex.  She giggles.  He has the decency to draw his lips into a line, a flustered blush spreading out under his glasses.

“Come on, nerd,” Skye says, and loops her arm through his, “take me out for pie.”

 

The diner is farther than 15 minutes away from campus.  It’s more like 45, and Skye wonders what Ward is doing this far away from campus often enough to having a favorite spot to eat.

“I um,” he says, when she asks that very same question, “my brother goes to school around here.”

“You have a brother?” Skye asks.  There’s a chill in the air, and the diner’s parking lot is has a weird kind of lighting that makes Ward look ill.

“Two,” Ward says, “but I only talk to my younger one.”

“Oh,” Skye replies.  She’s not really sure if there’s anything else she can say.

“It’s not a big deal,” Ward tells her.  “I just thought you should know.”

“I appreciate it,” Skye offers.  Ward holds the door for her, and he won’t catch her eyes. 

“Ward,” she whispers, “tell me you didn’t drive forty five minutes just to have an awkward as hell first date with me.”  That grabs his attention.  He relaxes only when he sees that she’s smiling.

“Sorry,” he whispers back, “I’m not the dating type.  You’ll have to cut me some slack.”  Skye punches him on the arm.

“But you’re so warm and fuzzy,” Skye says.  He replies by gazing down at her fondly.  She finds his glasses cuter than she really should.

 

Ward orders apple pie, and Skye orders pumpkin.  When the waitress asks if she wants ice cream, she replies with,

“Um, hell yes,” and Ward laughs.  It lights up his face.  Skye is trying to determine what flavor of Grant Ward this is.  It’s somewhere between the stiff TA who tells awful jokes about latin and grades papers way too harshly, and the guy who holds her after sex in an all encompassing embrace.  He’s funnier than she thought he’d be, prone to smile at her when he thinks she’s not looking.  He likes apple pie, but Skye isn’t surprised by that in the slightest.

“So why me?” Skye asks.

“What?” Ward replies.

“I’m sure you get hit on all the time,” Skye says, “why was I different?”  

 

The waitress sets their pies in front of them as Ward stares at Skye, blinking like he’s got something in his eye.  He takes his glasses off, sets them next to his plate.  He rubs the bridge of his nose.  Skye reaches across the table and takes the first bite of his pie.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Um,” Ward replies, sliding his glasses on, “I.  Well.”  Skye tries pumpkin next.

“Mine’s better,” she declares.  “Want some?”

“You were...I don’t know.  I just know I wanted you.  More than I really ever had with anyone else?”  Skye grins at him, through another forkful of pumpkin pie.

“Aw, love at first sight?” She asks.  His ice cream is starting to melt, and she pretends to ignore the way he stiffens at the word ‘love.’

“I don’t get hit on all the time,” he says, softly.  “I very rarely get any attention at all.”

“Bullshit,” Skye says, “you’re handsome, you’re smart.  What more could you ask for?”

“I’ve been told,” he winces, “that I’m not very nice.”  Skye scoffs.

“I repeat: bullshit.”  He smiles at her, closed lipped but genuine.  She reaches for his pie, and he pushes her fork away with his own.

“Hey!” he protests, and she swoops in again, passing his fork and taking a chunk of pie with some ice cream, for good measure.

“Your ice cream is melting,” Skye says, “and since all of this pie is amazing, I’d hate to see any part of it go to waste.”

“So I made a good call?” Ward asks.

“An excellent call, Ward,” she says.

“You can call me Grant, if you want,” he says, and breaks off a piece of pie.

“So casual, Grant,” Skye teases, “and only on our first date.”

\--

Miles shows up somewhere between on time and five minutes late, and when Skye opens the door he hands her flowers that he very obviously pulled from the walkway in front of her building.

“You shouldn’t have,” Skye coos, in mock adoration.  Miles laughs.

“What can I say?” he tells her, wrapping her into an embrace and kissing her on the lips, “I’m a romantic at heart.”  Skye shoves him off, grinning.

“Gross,” Skye groans, “You’re gross, is what you are.”

“Hurtful, Skye,” Miles says, “is that how you treat all of your boyfriends?”

“You’re not my boyfriend,” Skye tells him.  She finds a red plastic cup in her cabinets, fills it halfway with water, and drops the flowers in.

“You’re my fuckbuddy who’s buying me dinner,” Skye tells him, “and now I have dirt on my hands.  Thanks, asshole.”  Miles comes up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Isn’t the definition of ‘boyfriend’ a fuckbuddy who pays for dinner?” Miles whispers in her ear.  He nibbles on her earlobe for good measure, making her heart flutter.

“Nerd,” she hisses at him, but when he moves his lips to her neck she finds that can’t make words at all.  His hands slide to the front of her skirt.

“A skirt?” he asks, “for me?”  He’s hiking the fabric up, pressing his fingers against her underwear.

“Not for you,” Skye whispers, “for me.”  He snickers, and lets her go.  She washes her hands, grabs a pair of high heels that make Miles let out a low whistle.  She smiles at him in smug satisfaction.  She twirls for good measure, knowing her skirt will fly up, knowing that her legs look amazing and that Miles has a weakness for her ass.

“Are we supposed to go to dinner, or something?” Miles asks, “or are you trying to get out of that?”  Skye stops spinning, wobbles, lets Miles catch her.

“Not a chance, Lydon,” she says, “I was promised dinner, and you’re going to follow through.”

“I offered drinks,” Miles tells her.  She sticks her tongue out, darting her head back when he tries to kiss her.

“Dinner or no go,” Skye says, “I’m a proper southern girl, you know.”

“Well how can I say no when you put it like that?” Miles says.  They adjust themselves, pulling out of their embrace and into easy steps beside each other.

“Though,” Miles says, “I wouldn’t call our activities properly southern.  Or did you forget what happened the last time you wore those shoes?”  Skye elbows him in the ribs.

“Jerk,” she tells him.

 

The restaurant is close enough to campus that Skye feels nervous, just for a second.

“Relax,” Miles says, when he notices the tension in her shoulders “it’s really not a big deal.  I’m more of a grad student than a TA, anyway.”  She chews at the inside of her cheek but nods anyway.  He’s right, in a way.  She’s never really seen him as very authoritative.  They’d hooked up because they ran into each other at a nightclub, not because she’d seduced him after class, or anything.  So he graded her papers.  Whatever, it’s not like he was a very difficult grader, anyway.

“Fine,” Skye says, “but if we get caught, none of this is my fault.”

“Since when are you a stickler for rules?” Miles teases.  Skye resists the urge to step on his foot.  He can be grating, at times.  Self righteous.  Oblivious.  But when she slides in across from him, he beams at her with such brilliance that it makes her melt.

“Come on, Skye,” Miles says, “let’s just have fun with this.”

 

They talk code, they talk current events, they talk about growing up in Texas and landmarks and she even asks about his mom.  Miles is always chatty, and so is Skye, and the two together are like a never ending stream of words, laughs, insults.

“You’re so stupid,” Skye tells Miles, for what must be the fifth time tonight, “why the hell did you think that would work?”  Miles takes a sip of his beer and tries to calm down, but the sound of Skye giggle triggers his reflex, and he laughs despite himself.  The beer comes out his nose, and he shuts his eyes in pain while Skye howls with laughter.

“Oh my god, stop,” Skye wheezes, “you fucking loser.”  Miles finds it all too amusing to really be pissed off, even as his eyes water and his sinuses burn.

“You wound me,” Miles gasps out.  Always with the witty replies. Skye throws a french fry at him, and it lands in his hair.  Miles pulls it out of his hair and lays it on the table.  His eyes are still watering, and he looks so pained that Skye actually feels bad for him.

“C’mere,” Skye says, and leans across the table to kiss him.  He meets her halfway, cupping her face with his hands.  His beard brushes against her chin and she sighs, happily, against his lips.  Their mouths move together and she thinks idly that they fit perfectly against one another.  She breaks away and smiles shyly, disgustingly so.  She’s lovestruck for all of two seconds.  On the third second, she sees someone that looks a lot like Ward making a beeline for the exit.   She really should’ve pushed Miles to take her somewhere further off campus.

 

“Fuck,” Skye says, leaping from her seat.  Miles looks upset, then concerned.

“Skye?” he asks, reaching for her arm.

“Just,” Skye tells him, quickly adjusting her skirt, “stay here, okay?  I’ll be right back.”  Miles turns to look at the door.

“What am I missing?” Miles says, and Skye curses again.

“Miles, just stay here,” Skye repeats, and her heels are way too high to run in, so she teeters as fast as she can towards the door.

 

“Grant!” she calls after him.  He’s speed walking to his stupid car on his stupid, long legs, and she’s not going to catch up to him in heels.  So she kicks them off and leaves them, and sprints across the pavement.  

“Grant!” she yells.  She makes it to him in time to wrap her hand around his bicep.

“Don’t do this,” she pleads.  He has a furious glint behind his dark framed glasses.  She wishes he would take them off and just look at her.

“I haven’t done anything,” he protests, ripping his arm out of her hand.  He pulls too back to fast, too hard.  She’s not gripping him very tightly.  His elbow slams against his car.

“Fuck!” he yells.  “Fuck!” And now he looks at her.  She thinks he might be embarrassed, or on the verge of tears.

“Can you leave me alone?” he asks.  She wishes he was angry.  Not sad.  Anything but sad, please.

“I-” Skye begins, “Come on.  It’s not the end of the world, Ward.”  Wrong thing to say.  Ward looks bitter, but when he swallows, hard, Skye can tell that he’s trying to keep himself together.

“I’m so glad you can be casual about this,” Ward says, “that really makes my night.”

“What were you doing out, anyway?  How do I know you weren’t on a date, too?” Skye says.  Maybe she’s trying to provoke him.  Make him scream at her, get it all out, so that he’s one step closer to forgiving her.  That’s how it works, right?

“I was having a cup of soup while I graded papers,” Ward says.  He’s starting to seethe.  “So no, Skye, I wasn’t on a date.  Good to know you think so highly of me.”

“Ward,” she says, again, “I don’t think this is entirely fair.  It’s not like you’re my boyfriend, or anything.”  He tightens his jaw, his back, his face, locks himself up and throws away the key.  Skye shrinks under his gaze.

“I don’t open up to people,” Ward says, “Ever.  Do you have any idea what last night meant to me?”

“It meant a lot to me too, Ward!” Skye protests, “I didn’t say that right.  You’re not my boyfriend, but I still care about you.  Come on, you know I do!”

“No,” he replies, too evenly, “I don’t.”  Skye sneers at him as an instinct.

“I’m twenty fucking years old, Ward,” she says, “I’m a fuck up, and I’m not really into the whole date one guy thing, not when I’ve never had a stable relationship in my entire fucking life!”  He freezes, and only now does he notice her bare feet.

“Where are your shoes?” he whispers.  Skye takes a step back.

“I kicked them off running after you,” she tells him.  The distance between their bodies feels like eons.  “I care about you.  I care about Miles, too.”  Ward doesn’t smile.  He opens the door of his car.

“Do you want a ride home?” he asks, “You don’t have shoes.”  She hates him, she decides.  She hates his calm demeanor, his sad eyes. 

“I can find my shoes,” Skye says.  “Miles is waiting for me.”

“Were you just going to lead us on until you picked which one of us you liked more?”  Ward asks, quietly.  Like he’s scared.

“I didn’t think either relationship would get that far,” she admits.  She feels tears pricking at her eyes.

“Goodnight, Skye,” Ward says.  He gets in his car, and she will not give him the satisfaction of standing there while he drives off.  So she does what any girl in her situation would do: she turns from his car and bolts.  Not towards the restaurant, not towards home, just away.  It feels natural to run.

“Skye!” Ward yells behind her.  He got out of his car, just for her.  Is she supposed to feel lucky?  “Skye!”

 

The ground cuts her bare feet.  She keeps running.  



End file.
